Take the shot
by MichelleKelly
Summary: A short drabble focusing on Irvine's thoughts, reluctance and his internal conflict when he's instructed to shoot Edea. Prompts: New Fandom, Internal conflict


Take the shot

Prompts: New fandom, Internal conflict

How could they not recognize her? How did they not know her? The rifle shook in my hands. My nerves fired at every synapse, and my stomach fell through the floor. I could barely breathe. _Matron. _How? Why?

"I can't, I can't take the shot," I muttered to Squall. my hands were shaking, it was unlike me

"I don't understand," Squall remarked. "Doesn't matter if it connects, that shot is our signal," he added, I wiped the sweat off of his brow, trying to focus.

"You don't get it, I can't," I reaffirmed. How did he not remember? Was he really that devoid of feeling? Or had he forgotten that much.

"Even if you miss, Irvine, I need you to fire, that shot is our signal," he repeated as if I didn't understand. But I couldn't miss my shot, to deliberately miss would break our code, break our purpose. It was like throwing away all my training and knowledge. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to snipe the only woman who had cared for me, the woman who raised me, who raised them as well. Even with all that had transpired, how could I? How could I after all she had done for me? My breathing was ragged, choppy, stressed. My mind was a flurry of multiple emotions, all of them spreading like fire to my insides, my stomach lurched. I began to dry heave, nearly retching like I had after my first kill. Sweat stung my eyes, I tasted salt on my lips.

"I can't," I simply stated again. How could I explain to him who she was if he didn't remember? Would he accuse me of treason? Why did it have to be her? She never acted like this before. She wasn't like this. She was kind, kindhearted, gentle, motherly, the opposite of this. Everything was flooding my senses. She was the closest thing that I had to a mother. The only woman who I recalled showing me love. I'd never been put in a situation where I had to take out a woman, let alone one that knew me so well, one that I looked up to, adored and still loved. She was the reason I wore the purple vest. Purple always reminded me of her, purple and blue. Color all days blue, save one for black, color all my days black as sin for the one I was about to commit. If I succeeded there would be no atonement for me, no redemption or absolution. I would be damned to hellfires, but that was the last of my worries, the biggest one was killing Matron, a woman who gave me and the others everything we had. Would she ever have fathomed being murdered by one of her orphans?

"You need to fire, Irvine," he reiterated once more. I took a deep breath, and tried to push all of my memories from my head, all the memories, all the love, the kindness, and safety she provided. I wish I didn't remember, I wish I was like them without the pain of recollection. "You can do this," he reassured. "I know you can, that's why you're here," he continued on. He sounded far away, like I was under water, drowning. I _was_ drowning, gasping for air in my mind, trying to overcome this psychologically tormenting mind fuck.

It was my job, my mission. Emotions weren't supposed to be involved, they were to be ignored. I was trained for this, but not for _this_. I steadied my hands, my aim and looked through my cross hairs. I was conflicted but duty bound. I wouldn't miss. I couldn't miss. I could feel a piece of me dying as I lined up the shot. My pulse was pounding in my ears, my eyes tearing up. I reminded myself of my duty once more. I reminded myself of my role. _This shot is the signal._ I hoped she'd block it, or have a body guard take it. Anything. I dreaded watching the shot connect. I had to harden my heart as much as I could. I had to distance myself in order to steady my hands. I had to disconnect and disassociate from myself, become another person. I just wish I could have thanked her for making me into who I was, for helping mold me, for raising me with all the others. She deserved so much better than all of this. She deserved to die old, surrounded by the children she loved and that loved her. I couldn't understand how any of this was happening. My finger felt like lead against the trigger, a stone I had to force myself to move, to do what came second nature to me. I bit my lip and tasted blood. I could feel my hair brushing against my cheek, and hear my own ragged breathing. _Focus._

"Matron, I'm sorry," I whispered, before I pulled the trigger. It echoed into the night, reverberating off the buildings in the night. The rifle recoiled and I looked up to see a barrier absorb my shot. I sighed with relief, calm washed over me briefly before I observed the others moving into place.

My involvement was complete.

I took the shot.

Even though I failed, through no fault of my own, I had taken the shot. It still killed a piece of me, I felt part of my heart die, a part of me that hadn't suffered until now. While they all took a part of me, it was usually my sanity, my psyche, my mind. Not this one, this one killed more of me than I ever knew, and it had failed. I wonder if they'll ever remember and be able to understand why I sacrificed my heart that night, and why I died a little, even with the relief of a barrier. I would never forget seeing her face in my cross hairs and the sharp pain in my chest when that shot rang out. Sometimes, I find myself morbidly wondering what I would have lost if my shot had succeeded. I suspect it would have killed my soul, and that was all I had left. I needed to protect it.

AN/ new fandom. You can follow me on tumblr at michellekellyff this was a prompt challenge. Hope you enjoyed it. I've been doing word prompts, as listed in the beginning. I chose Irvine because he always piqued my curiosity. I do have a fic on Squall I might type up one of these days if there's interest or time. I have edited and expanded the original version of this by about 200 words. It didn't feel complete originally.


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